Teach & Serve II, No. 26 – Expectations Change. Get Used to It.

February 1, 2017

If we are not changing, looking for new ways to do things, for new ways to interact, to teach, to lead, then we are not suited for work in schools.

There are all kinds of adages about change I won’t bother to quote as I begin those most simple and, perhaps, the most brief of any Teach & Serve I have written to date. We know that that things change, that people change. As educators and institutional leaders, are we not all about change?

Students come to us as one thing, they leave another hopefully positively influenced by their time with us. We anticipate and expect them to change. In fact, if they were not changing, something would be horribly wrong with how we have structured our environment.

We anticipate changes in curriculum and the tools we use to teach (if we do not anticipate changes here, we should get out of the game). We know that curriculum and the tools used to deliver it will change. We (hopefully!) embrace this idea. Get ahead of it. Are inspired by it.

But when expectations of us change, how do we react? When we are confronted with the reality that those for whom we are responsible seem to have new expectations of what we will do, how we will teach, the manner in which we lead, how do we respond? Do we face such changes with the same enthusiasm we apply to the ones mentioned earlier or do we have a reaction which suggests, “hey, you knew this about me – you knew this is who I am and how I do things”?

Look, expectations of teachers have changed and will continue to do so. Expectations of administrators have, likewise, changed and will continue to do so. If you believe who you are when you started this work is who you will be ten, fifteen, twenty years into it or ten, fifteen, twenty years from now, I seriously encourage you to think again.

If we are not changing, looking for new ways to do things, for new ways to interact, to teach, to lead, then we are not suited for work in schools.

Teach & Serve II, No. 25 – Conjunction Junction

January 25, 2017

Author’s note: as a former teacher at an all boys school, writing a post wherein I used the word “but” over-and-over again did, in fact, make me smirk… go ahead and chuckle, but there’s hopefully a point here!

In my position, I have the wonderful opportunity to spend time with educators from all over the country. I get to speak to them, resource with them, program for them. I am involved in professional development and visioning with my organization – the Jesuit Schools Network – and part of what we do is hold gatherings for “job level” groups, assistant principals, athletic directors, deans of students and so forth. We also do some direct instruction of adults and spend much time in conversation about how to impart leadership lessons which are valuable and tested. I work with an amazingly skilled and talent group of people whose blessing it is to work with a broader amazingly skilled and talented group of people!

I keep and electronic journal and write down words, phrases, thoughts and sentences that these people have shared or I have thought about in conversation with them. Sometimes, I know who said what and I try to give credit where it’s due. Often times, I don’t. I look about at a note or image and think “who was smart enough to say this?” I am typically sure those instances that arrest my attention did not originate with me.

Such is the topic of today’s Teach & Serve. I do not know where I heard it, but the thought should be shared.

Educational leaders should be very aware of their use of the word “but” and consider employing the word “and” instead.

But is exclusionary. But represents a break apart. But stops momentum. But suggests conflict.

And is inclusive. And represents joining together. And building momentum. And suggests teamwork.

I really like the simplicity of this concept and I’ve been thinking about pivoting from “but” to “and” in my own personal work. I have tried to catch the times I have been tempted to use “but” and discern where I might better respond with “and.”

We can pay attention to our words, both spoken and written. We can look at what we say and write and how our words indicate who we are. We can listen and analyze.

I want to use “but” sparingly. I want to use “and” liberally.

Because I want to be an “and” guy. I want to be inclusive and communal. I want to build momentum and a better team.

Teach & Serve II, No. 24 – My Father Didn’t Like School

January 18, 2017

My father, who professed a dislike of school and who I never heard anyone call “teacher” was one of the greatest teachers I ever had. He should have written a book about education. If he had, it would been titled Lessons about Teaching from a Guy Who Didn’t Like School.

A version of this post originally appeared in Teach & Serve, Vol 1

I have come to understand a very human tendency to idealize people who are gone from our lives. We are often nostalgic for those we’ve lost to death. When those we love pass from our lives, we have a tendency to romanticize them – who they were, what they stood for and what they said.

Though I try to guard against this temptation when I think of my father, I am sure that a bit of idealization sneaks in when I write about him. How could it not? I loved him.

Dad, if you asked him to comment, would have said terrible things about school. He may have even said terrible things about teachers. No, strike “may have.” Dad did say terrible things about his schooling, about some of his teachers, about education overall and those things may even have been true.

Dad’s High School Graduation Photo

Dad attended the same Jesuit high school I did and he told great stories about having gone there, including priests throwing students, desk-and-all, through closed classroom doors, pitching in high school baseball games after having had a beer or two behind the dugout and the undated, signed notes my grandmother would give him of the “Please excuse Mickey from class…” and a number of other anecdotes equally entertaining and hard to believe.

Dad could tell stories.

Dad could also give advice, when asked, so, like a typical son I never really asked him his advice about teaching when I entered the profession. Dad was not a teacher, did not seem to have adored his educational life and it never occurred to me to ask him what he actually thought about education.

Looking back on who he was and how he lived and, granted, romanticizing and idealizing him a bit, I think I can discern what he may have told me had I asked him.

Dad never took himself too seriously.

Seriously.

Though he was involved in a serious profession and found himself, in his work as a deacon in the Catholic Church, dealing with people in challenging times of life, he never let the moments get the best of him. He also never let himself think he was any better than anyone else. I remember him telling the story of when, during a baptism he was performing, he continually referred to the child – let’s call the baby “Chris” – as a boy when, in fact, she was a girl. “It’s a girl, dummy!” the baby’s grandmother finally corrected him during the ceremony. Dad smiled and laughed. He apologized and went on with the baptism. Dad loved to tell that story.

Teachers and administrators need a healthy dose of self-deprecation. If we take ourselves too seriously, the work can become burdensome. We are public figures whose mistakes are going to be critiqued and scrutinized. If educators live and die with every challenging moment, the work can take a deeper emotional toll. Educators are well served by stepping back and smiling at themselves. Often.

Dad was very decisive. There may have been a lot of internal debate going on with my father and, surely, he and my mom talked about big decisions in their lives before they made them, but, professionally and personally, Dad struck me as very decisive and, once he had made a decision, he did not spend too much time looking back.

Educators are called upon to make decisions minute-by-minute. While not all of these decisions are filled with import, many need to be made with confidence. This does not necessarily imply that decisions must all be made quickly, but, once decisions are made, dwelling on and second guessing them as a matter of course can be very draining.

Dad had a great sense of humor. He could make fun of almost anything and could be highly irreverent. I have too many examples of this to name, but, trust me, Dad was very, very funny. It was one of his defining traits.

Teachers and administrators who cannot laugh and who do not have a sense of humor can certainly do the job. They can do it at a high level, even. But I have found that those who do not have a sense of humor simply do not enjoy the work as much as those who do. If you are not going to enjoy being in a school, the other rewards of the vocation may not be enough for you.

Dad connected with people. When Dad died, I spoke in the eulogy about his “guys.” Dad had many, many “guys,” people whose lives and his had intertwined over the course of his work with the Church and simply because of the man he was. There was a great number of people who called Dad “friend” and a lot more whose lives had been touched by him and, surely, who had touched his life in turn.

Much like not having a well-developed sense of humor, it is possible for educators – teachers and administrators – to do the work without connecting with students and with parents and with colleagues. It is possible to do the work. I am just not sure how well the work is done by people who do not enjoy connecting with others. Actually, I am pretty sure that those people do not do the work nearly as well. Teachers and administrators must connect. It is part of the job description.

Dad had a terrific sense of justice. I suppose having a strong sense of justice was part of Dad’s job description as a deacon. He could sense an imbalance of power or a bad situation readily and reacted strongly to these types of scenarios. He was motivated by those who had been abused by any system, was inspired by David vs. Goliath stories, and he championed those who had less. He never stopped fighting in this area. He also, from the pulpit, did not shy away from talking about issues of justice, even when such homilies made people uncomfortable.

Educators are called to not only be fair and just, they are called to highlight injustice around them. They are called to act in a just manner and to point out to developing young minds the injustice that exists in the world. Further, they are compelled to help students understand that they can be part of changing unjust systems. If we are not about this as we teach, we are simply doing a disservice to students.

Dad was a great storyteller and loved to listen to others’ stories. I miss a lot about being able to talk with and listen to my Dad. I try to emulate much of what he was in my own life. Dad was a terrific storyteller and could command any room. He told wonderfully engaging and funny stories. He also loved to listen to others telling stories and would often ask for the same story to be told over-and-over again. He would want to hear about the same moment, the same incident, the same funny anecdote. And, when he listened, his reactions and smile and attention validated the storyteller and made that person feel very special.

Should educators not tell great stories? Beyond delivering content and inspiring skills in our students, should we not also be able to tell them great stories about our subject matter and convey or love of it? Should we not also listen to those around us at least as much as we speak to them?

My father, who professed a dislike of school and who I never heard anyone call “teacher” was one of the greatest teachers I ever had. He should have written a book about education. If he had, it would been titled Lessons about Teaching from a Guy Who Didn’t Like School.

Teach & Serve II, No. 23 – Is It Time to Go?

January 11, 2017

As educational leaders, we can easily and readily overlook the signs that it is time for us to go. We can avoid the signals. We can hold on for dear life. And we do not always know we are doing this.

The Denver Broncos lost their head coach last week. Gary Kubiak was an NFL head coach for 10 years, the last 2 with the Broncos. He was very successful and he won last year’s Super Bowl, Super Bowl 50 (no one can take that away from Denver Bronco fans!). By all accounts, Kubiak was not fired. He chose to step down. He had been dealing with health issues and those concerns seemed paramount in his mind when he said “I just can’t do it the way I want to do it anymore.”

I found this both sad and noble, sad because Kubiak is a coach for whom one can root – a good guy by all accounts in a sport that needs them – noble because here is a man walking away from millions of dollars, a man who was all but at the top of his profession, a man who could have continued the work.

But he knew it was time to go. He recognized the signs. He acted.

I found myself thinking of… myself. I have changed positions in education: teacher-to-department chair-to-dean of students-to-assistant principal-to principal-to-assistant principal-to-educational consultant (for lack of a better term) and I noted that, in all but one of those scenarios, I was promoted or removed. In only instance did I say “yes, it’s time now.” In only one did I realize my time in the position I had had run its course. That’s a mistake in my leadership journey and does not illustrate the kind of reflection I would like to have in my professional life.

However, I am very much not alone.

As educational leaders, we can easily and readily overlook the signs that it is time for us to go. We can avoid the signals. We can hold on for dear life. And we do not always know we are doing this.

At some point in our leadership journeys, we have seen other leaders become this, become those who cannot see that they are well past the point of effectiveness, that the needle has tipped in the wrong direction. We see them, we point them out and we think “I’ll never be that.”

Yet most of us are in danger of becoming what we beheld.

Leaders who settle into routine and let it drive their work, year-after-year, are in danger. Leaders who lose control of what they lead are in danger. Leaders who hear themselves say “well, they are never happy” or “you can’t please everyone” are in danger. Leaders who find the work more tiring than energizing are in danger.

Who wants to be the coach who hangs on too long? Who sets out to be the player that cannot play anymore and everyone around her knows it but her? Who wants to be the actor still trying to play the lead when it is no longer becoming? Who wants to be the author who writes poor work after poor work, not realizing it was time to retire the pen years before?

Who wants to be the principal or administrator who stays at the school too long, whose effectiveness is gone, who does not innovate, who hangs on for dear life.

No one sets out to be this person, this “leader.”

We must (a term I typically avoid using but it is accurate here) have mentors we trust who can tell us the truth. We must have friends we rely on who can reflect how we are doing. We must have faith to listen to those around us. At the end of the day, all of us as leaders should periodically ask ourselves “do I still have it? Am I still up for the job? Am I what I want to be as a leader? Am I growing?”

If the answer to any of these questions is “no,” we’ve got a lot of thinking to do…

… and it should start with thinking about another position in our institution or elsewhere.

Teach & Serve II, No. 22 – One Song 2017

January 4, 2017

One of the greatest gifts of living in our society is that we are not all the same.

And yet we are one.

Stop me if you heard this one (and, if you read my blog last year, you did!): I love music. I’ve sung and played guitar in garage bands, cover bands, liturgical music groups and solo at coffee house gatherings on and off for the past 30 years. I am not a terrific player but I know that I am good enough to be the number 2 (okay, number 3) player in a group. Strictly rhythm and strictly out of the spotlight, my playing gives me great joy. It’s difficult to describe the feeling I get when a band is in a groove, making good music, having fun, playing and singing as one.

In thinking about the one song that I wanted to have in my head this year, the one piece I wanted to put at the top of every playlist to remind me of who I want to be this year, I thought, as I did last year, about the artists I love who seem driven and passionate themselves. I am the first to admit that my musical tastes are not vast but what I miss in diversity, I make up for in loyalty. For my song last year, I selected Bruce Springsteen’s The Rising.

I played the hell out of that song last year and it really personified who I wanted to be and how I wanted to live.

This year, I wanted to choose something proactive, something engaging and something that resonated with the personal theme I selected for myself on New Year’s Eve.

The theme I selected was kindness.

My one song for the year is One by U2.

One love/One life/When it’s one need/In the night

One love/We get to share it/Leaves you baby if you/Don’t care for it

Sometimes years do not go the way we think they should. Often our plans are not realized. We can be frustrated. We can be upset. We can even despair. But we get one.

One life. One chance. One opportunity to make a difference.

We make our difference through kindness. We make it through love.

Too late/Tonight/To drag the past out into the light

We’re one, but we’re not the same/We get to /Carry each other

We can live in the past. We can hold others’ slights against them. But we can also move beyond this, beyond our hurts and our fears. We can realize that we are not all the same, but we inhabit the same places.

How much better would our years be if we approached those places and people from kindness?

One love/One blood/One life

You got to do what you should/One life

With each other/Sisters/Brothers

One life/But we’re not the same

We get to /Carry each other/Carry each other

One…life

One of the best parts of Christmas Break is the break from dealing with so many personalities, the break from feeling the need to respond to so many varied pressures from people. One of the greatest gifts of that down time is to settle. To contemplate. To think.

All well and good, but one of the greatest gifts of our work is the very differences that can sometimes drain us. Students, parents, our colleagues, they come to us (sometimes they come at us) with a myriad of differences, from a myriad of perspectives, from a multitude of diversity. That’s one of the greatest gifts we share in education. Of course, one of the greatest gifts of living in our society is that we are not all the same.

And yet we are one.

Feels to me like some of that truth has been lost in recent months.

Let’s get it back.

It’s the beginning of a new year. More germane to us in the education game, it’s the beginning of a new semester. We’ve had time away from the grind. We’ve had time to recharge. We’ve been able (I hope) to take some reflection time. To assess what we did last semester. To emphasize and repeat the good things and to de-emphasize and adjust those that things that were not so good.